


Her Lonely Road, Walked Alone

by Iron_Angel



Series: What we had was like gold dust. [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, F/M, Multiple Pov, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9157357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron_Angel/pseuds/Iron_Angel
Summary: Nora had to keep going, had to keep pushing forward, even when she was on her own.(Companion story to and taking place during "Goodnight, Goodbye" following Nora after parting company with MacCready. Note: This is *not* a stand-alone story. Part one is necessary.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: *insert standard "don't own, no profits made" jargon here*
> 
> Please forgive any mistakes/typos. I'll correct them as I find them.
> 
> Edit: Title changed.

"Just remember, it's all thanks to the Minutemen," Nora said, shaking the harried-looking settler woman's hand.

Even as she said it, she could feel MacCready's eyes boring into the back of her head. Reluctantly, she turned to face him as the settler went on about her business. Yes, he was pissed, but she really wasn't in the mood to deal with it right now. It was dark. Both of their packs were heavy with several half full aluminum fuel canisters. All she wanted to do was unload at the trader's, take her pay, and find them a place to sleep for the night. She knew he was just as tired as she was. She could spare a couple extra caps to get them a comfortable bed this time. Maybe that would be enough appease him.

"Are you fu-- freakin' kidding me?!" he hissed. "Again?!"

Or maybe not.

He slung his pack off his shoulders, flinging it to the ground with an echoing clunk. "Another charity case! You drag us all the way out here with this useless shi-- crap," he gave the pack a vicious kick, "and again, AGAIN, you don't ask to be paid! You may like being all friendly with these assh-- jerks, but I'm sick and tired of being your pack brahmin when there's nothing in it for me!"

It had been a long time coming, she knew. All the verbal jabs at her 'hoarding' --how did he expect her to make any caps at all when most of the people of the Commonwealth needing her help didn't have two to rub together?-- and all the glares he leveled at her when turned down what few they did have to offer her.

He was a mercenary. He was in it for the pay. She had known this from the beginning. But it didn't hurt any less to be reminded, even after everything they'd been through, everything they'd shared, that this was just a job to him.

Nothing personal; just business.

She was too tired. She wanted to laugh at herself for being a delusional idiot. She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw up.

Then, suddenly, it all disappeared. The numbness that had taken her when she emerged from the vault grabbed at her again. This time, however, she didn't fight it. She would be professional and leave with her dignity intact. Time enough for grief and self-loathing later.

He was staring at her, waiting.

She reached into the side pocket of her pack where she kept her caps and found, with only touch of surprise, the bag of caps she'd given him at their first meeting. She'd forgotten he'd given them back to her for helping him with the Gunners. It had come full circle.

She held it out to him. He looked at it, mouth opening. He was going to speak again, and she didn't want to hear anymore. She let the bag drop from her fingers and gave over to the numbness completely.

"Two hundred and fifty caps, as agreed. Contract fulfilled. Thank you for your assistance, MacCready."

She turned away.

It was done. It was over.

She closed the book on Robert Joseph MacCready.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well well, look what we have here. A little blue bird fresh out of her vault."

Nora blinked, the world suddenly coming into focus --how many days had she been out of it?-- as the group of raiders emerged from the bushes like radroaches from filth. Panicked, she lifted her 10mm to take aim at the speaker. It wouldn't do any good. She might get this one, maybe a second, but there were too many.

"Please, I don't want any trouble," she said, keeping her voice as calm as possible.

"Well maybe we do," said one from behind her. "Lookin' real juicy in that suit there, little blue bird."

Raiders were always wanting tribute from her settlements, right? She shrugged her pack off her shoulders, letting it dangle from her arm as she offered it up. "Please, I have caps and supplies. Take them for... for payment... to let me walk away."

The first speaker laughed. "Nah, I like the look of you better. I think I'll take you instead. Been awhile since I got myself a vault dweller."

He made to grab for her when he was suddenly brought up short by one wearing a sack-hood to his left.

"Who the fuck says you get to have her?" Sack-hood demanded.

"Me, that's who!"

Sack-hood shoved at him, and the fight was on.

Nora was never sure where raiders fit in the food chain of Commonwealth hostiles, but she'd always ranked them apart from ferals (none at all) and supermutants (if Dumb and Ugly had a baby...) by merit of intelligence. At least supermutants followed some sort of hierarchy of command. Raiders were unpredictable. Today, it worked in her favor.

She crouched slowly so as not to draw attention to herself --let them think she was cowering in fear-- and slid her hand into her belt pouch. Eyes still on the arguing raiders, she slipped a frag mine free and armed it.

Just as she was about to slide the mine across the ground at the scuffling group, her eyes caught the red glow of a laser musket just ahead on the road.

Minutemen! But they were heading in the wrong direction. They wouldn't see her unless...

She carefully sat the mine in front of her, then just as carefully, reached for the flare gun tied to her pack straps. She counted to three, jumped back, fired the flare, and bolted.

She didn't know what had happened in the chaos of the explosion as the concussive force knocked her off her feet and into a ditch. There was a high-pitched ringing in her ears, then screaming, yelling, and the sound of laser fire. She clamped her hands over her head and waited for the world to go quiet again.

"General?" a soft voice called, and a hand clasped her shoulder.

She lifted her head, squinting against the light. "I'm okay," she coughed. Nothing felt broken, but there was something warm and wet in her hair. She ran her hand through it, coming away with a thick smear of blood. "Am I bleeding?"

"No ma'am, it's not yours."

She held out her unbloodied hand and let herself be pulled to her feet and back on the road. Scanning the damage, she counted five raiders --all of them-- and one Minuteman, dead. Two more Minutemen were rifling pockets and picking up weapons.

The one that had seen to her moved over to the fallen 'Man, pulling the body off to the side of the road, straightening his coat, and placing his hat under his folded arms across his chest. As much of a 'burial' to be given in the Commonwealth, she knew. She still had to wipe a tear from her eye as she and the three survivors stood around their comrade, heads bowed for a brief prayer.

"We would offer you an escort, General, but there is another settlement needing assistance. You are welcome to join us. We could use another gun now that we're down one."

She shook her head, inwardly regretting it as her matted hair slapped a streak of sticky red across her cheek. "I'm needed elsewhere," she lied. "I'll be fine on my own."

The group leader nodded and motioned for the others to continue on. "Godspeed, General."

She watched until they were out of sight, then turned to the northwest.

Sanctuary.

No.

She rotated slowly, mentally ticking off each settlement in their perspective directions. She looked down at her Pip Boy. It had been softly playing Radio Freedom since she'd left the supply depot she and MacCr--

She reached down and clicked off the radio.

No more settlements to help. No more charity cases. She knew where she needed to go. Had known for awhile. She had put it off too long, preparing for the mission, trying to get enough caps for a second hazmat suit to bring _him_ with her. Now there was no need.

She turned to the Boston city skyline, eyes pinpointing the direction of Goodneighbor even though the Old State House couldn't be seen from this far away.

At least she still had friends there.


	3. Chapter 3

"The vault dweller is back," Fahrenheit said as she leaned closer to the dingy window. "Looks like she's heading to the State House."

Hancock shook his Jet inhaler and took a deep hit. "Always good to see the General and her stalwart mercenary companion," he exhaled with a grin.

"She's alone. Looks like she's been on the losing side of a fight, too."

The ghoul jumped up from his couch to look out the window and down at the woman in the unmistakable bright blue suit. "Shit." He turned to his bodyguard. "Fahr, tell the men to let her come up an' then give us some time alone."

"Sure, boss."

He flipped open his tin of Mentats and popped two into his mouth. The buzz was just starting to get good when Fahrenheit escorted a very haggard-looking Nora into the office, stepping back out and closing the door as she went.

"Need a shot of Med-x there, sister?" he asked, lighting a cigarette to cover his looking her over. When she looked confused, he gestured to her still blood-matted hair.

She reached up to lightly touch it, then seemed to remember. "Oh. No, I'm okay." She stood up straight, folding her arms behind her in a way that was too Brotherhood of Steel for his liking. "My apologies for intruding, mayor. I was hoping I could ask for any work you might have."

He gaped at her for a long moment. "You're fuckin' kidding me, right?" She flinched, but he continued on. "What the hell is this military-formal shit?"

She dropped her gaze, but didn't drop the stance. "It's been a hard day."

"I can tell."

"Regardless, I could use the work, please."

He took a long drag. "Y'know, if it's caps ya need, I can loan y--"

"No!" He blinked at her. She coughed, somehow managing to stand even straighter. "No caps, thanks. I just need some supplies and permission to use KL-E-0's work bench."

How she wasn't breaking her back right then from the tension, he'd never know. "Yeah, all right." She finally looked back up at him, looking only slightly less rigid. "First things first, though. Food, bath, an' sleep, an' I ain't picky 'bout what order it's done."

She rubbed at forehead tiredly; he could see the ring of dried blood lining her fingers and in her nails. "I appreciate the offer, but I've wasted too much time already. The sooner I can get geared, the sooner I can get into the Glowing Sea."

He choked on his smoke. "Fuckin' hell, ya got a death wish or somethin'?!" He tossed his cigarette away and moved into her space, looping an arm around her shoulders. "Sunshine," he gripped her chin and tilted her face up to his, "I'm all for ya goin' ghoul and us tryin' for the long term, but we ain't talkin' just oversized bugs an' shamblers. Deathclaws in the Sea make the ones we got up here look like molerats."

That she didn't try to brush off his flirt or pull away from him spoke volumes. Last pass through Goodneighbor, she and MacCready had gotten an earful from Clair loud enough for the whole street to hear for breaking a bed at the Rexford. Where was the merc now?

"It doesn't matter," she said softly, eyes turning dim and distant.

Hancock froze. He knew this look. He'd seen it many times on the former Diamond City ghouls as their mates died or disappeared in the ruins. He'd seen it on his own mother's face after his father died. Had Mac...?

"Nora, where is MacCready?"

Grief for a dead loved one was heart-wrenching. The look that transformed her face at that moment was horrifying. It was as if she herself had just died right there in his arms. Blank and empty, her eyes lost all light.

"His services were no longer required. I terminated his contract so that he may find employment better suited to his tastes elsewhere."

Translation: Ol' Mac's done fucked up, and she cut him loose. Maybe he needed to lay off the Jet just a little, he thought as his heart rate settled back into a more normal rhythm. At least it meant MacCready was still alive out there somewhere. He liked the guy. More balls than brains, but he was mostly a decent fella by Goodneighbor standards. Definitely needed to get his priorities straight, though.

She sighed, coming back to herself a little. "Hancock--"

Now that he knew she wasn't grieving a dead lover, he felt a little more indulgent of his usual impure thoughts about his favorite vaultie. Especially when she said his name like _that_.

"--please, just give me the job and send me on my way."

He thumped the underside of her chin lightly and let her go. "Sorry, sister, no can do. I ain't sendin' ya out lookin' like you're 'bout to keel over. You want work, ya gonna do it on my terms. Food, bath, an' sleep."

She opened her mouth to protest, so he drew himself up to full intimidation height, scowling in the way he knew struck fear in people. John Hancock liked to party, but he was still a dangerous man. Sometimes a little tough love was good.

She snapped her mouth shut with an audible click, took a deep breath, then said, "Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hancock is an A+ friend.


	4. Chapter 4

One of the best things about Goodneighbor is that nobody asked questions. However, one of the worst things about Goodneighbor is that nobody really had any privacy, either. The biggest offender in privacy violation was Mayor Hancock himself. Chems, alcohol, brass balls, or the combination of all three, he had absolutely no qualms walking in where ever he pleased.

At least he gave Nora the courtesy of a knock on the door two seconds before he let himself into her hotel room.

"I come bearing gifts," he announced, eagerly watching for the cute little scurry of gripped towels and covering arms in attempts to preserve modesty. He'd been sure to time his intrusion just right to catch her coming out of the bath. Maybe make her squeal a little. Maybe catch a glimpse of flushed skin. He was sadly disappointed.

Nora was standing next to the vanity, wrapped securely in her towel, staring at herself in the cracked mirror. She didn't even acknowledge him as she absently tugged a one of the damp locks of her hair.

Hancock frowned, setting aside his 'gift' --a bottle of bourbon-- and coming to stand behind her. Seeing her eyes in the mirror, she looked so far away. He slid his hands over her shoulders, gently pulling her back against him. She didn't resist.

"I'd ask if you're flyin' high on a nice little chem break without me, but I know ya really ain't the type," he whispered, resting his chin in the crook of her neck as he watched her through the mirror. "I'm here for ya, sister. Wanna talk about it?"

She turned and slid fully into his arms, resting her head against his shoulder with a soft whimper. "I knew from the beginning that it was just a business deal. It wasn't personal. But when we..." She shuddered and took a deep breath, composing herself. Her voice became a little clearer. "I was stupid. I should have known better. It was just caps to him." She pulled away from him, turning back to the mirror and tugging at her hair again.

Hancock had his doubts, but he kept them to himself as he went back to the bourbon and twisted it open. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he poured a couple fingers into two mostly clean glasses he found on the dresser.

"Hey Hancock?" He hmm'd in acknowledgement. "May I borrow your knife?"

He handed her a glass, taking a sip from his own. Damn, that was some good shit. "Depends. You gonna do somethin' stupid with it?"

"I want to cut my hair."

"Yeah, I'd put that in the 'stupid' category." He batted her hand away from her tugging, raking his fingers through it to push it behind her ear. "Awfully pretty to go hackin' it off with a knife."

She didn't jerk away from his petting like he expected her to. In fact, she pressed ever so slightly into it. So he continued, enjoying the damp but soft feel of the coppery strands.

"I just..." She sighed. Exasperation or contentment, he didn't know and didn't care. He was fine with both. "I just need the change."

Yeah, he understood that probably better than anyone. He contemplated for a moment, still stroking her hair and sipping his drink. Then, "Do you trust me?"

His heart gave a flutter when she didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

"Good." He grabbed her hand and led her to a chair, motioning for her to sit. He paused only for a second to appreciate the way her towel rode up a little on her thigh. "Stay put, an' I'll be right back."

He took childish glee in that whatever she had been expecting him to do, coming back with a pair of scissors had not been it. He surprised her further when after several minutes of snips and caresses, he had cut her hair very short. Just shy of a buzz cut. Impressive given it was only scissors. He'd keep it to himself that he couldn't keep it even despite his best efforts, so he took it all off. Let her think he was just that talented. It'd grow back out soon enough. Probably.

He propped himself up against the headboard of her bed as she went to inspect his work, twirling one of the longer locks he'd clipped off around his fingers and watching as she patted her scalp. Call him sentimental, but he liked it. When she stepped into the en-suite to rinse the discards off, he placed it in an empty Mentats tin and tucked it into his coat's left breast pocket.

"My mother would have a heart attack if she could see me now," she said, coming back into the room.

He grinned up at her, taking in her dewy skin and the way her hair spiked up now. "I think ya look cute." He patted the bed next to him in invitation.

She finally cracked a smile at him, more at ease than he'd seen her since she'd come through the town gate. "I get the feeling that crawling into bed with you won't result in much of that sleep part of your ultimatum." She climbed in anyway.

He slid his arm under her and hauled her up to his chest, tucking her head under his chin. "A good bout of rigorous exercise helps ya sleep better, or so I'm told." She chuckled. He smiled. "That's my girl. Good to hear ya laugh."

It didn't last long. After a moment, it turned into more of a sob. He ran his fingers gently over her arm slung across his stomach and let her collect herself at her own pace.

"It still hurts," she said softly.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I know."

She rose slightly to look him in the eyes. "Hancock--"

She really needed to stop saying his name like that when he was doing his damnedest to be a gentleman here. Well, as much of one as he was capable of being anyway.

"--thank you."

"Anythin' for you, sunshine."


	5. Chapter 5

"They're callin' for you by name now," Hancock said as he leaned against the bathroom door frame.

Nora said nothing as she doused her head again, blood and water running in rivulets down her face. She felt along her scalp for any cuts. Surely she couldn't have gotten _that_ much blood splattered on her, she thought to herself. Some had to be hers, right?

"Garvey sounds pretty upset."

No cuts. A hellish bruise, yes, but no broken skin. She breathed a sigh of relief. A day without catching some weird blood borne pathogen was a good day in her book. God knows what was growing in Pickman's Gallery. How did that psychopath even live with the stench?

She reached for the towel she had left on the rack only to find Hancock holding it out to her. No choice but to pay attention to him now.

"Preston and Ronnie have plenty of recruits now." She tossed the red stained towel into the tub and slid past him into the bedroom, going to the table with the supplies he'd brought to start packing. "The Minutemen don't need me anymore."

"Would you stay if I said I needed ya?" he asked.

She paused, then sighed. "This is the only chance I have to find my son."

He sat down at the opposite side of the table, looking up at her even as she continued loading her gunnysack. "Then take me with ya. Nothin' better than a ghoul in radiation."

She shook her head. "I think Fahrenheit would shoot me on principle."

Suddenly his hand was in her line of vision, reaching forward to cup her cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on just breathing as her chest burned. He was always handsy with her, but this touch was far too intimate.

"All jokin' aside, I don't want ya goin' alone. Take me with ya."

He had a lot of good in him. He cared about her a lot. But it just wasn't in his nature to be monogamous for very long. She didn't blame him for it; it was part of his roguish charm. She just needed more than he could give her. More than she had any right to ask for.

"No," she breathed. "I need you here for me, Hancock." His hand fell away and she didn't have to look at him to know he was frowning in disappointment. This was better, she decided. "This may be a one way trip for me. It'll be better to go alone."

"Please don't say things like that, sweetheart."

She snapped her eyes open and glared at him. "I will because I need to. I need you to be my proxy. Preston's a good soldier, but he's no business man. I need you to keep my trade work going. I don't want everything I've done, everything I've been through to be for nothing."

"But if somethin' happens to you--"

She slammed her fist down. "Goddammit, I'm not going there to die! This man Virgil is my only shot at getting into the Institute! I'm not going to stop until I get inside and get my child back!"

He stared at her for a long moment, black eyes searching hers. She really didn't have time for this. Let him do as he pleased. She did her best. For good or ill, she'd done all she could for the Commonwealth. She had nothing else to give it.

She finished her packing and yanked the strings closed.

He turned away and slung his arms out in frustration. "Fine!" he growled. "I'll do it." He patted at his pockets, muttering, "I'm too fuckin' sober for this."

She slung the sack over her shoulder and pulled her rolled sleeves back down. After so long in her vault suit, the fatigues felt strange. Hancock had insisted she take them; better camouflage in the rain-soaked deadwood to the southwest, he reasoned. She would use all the advantages she could get.

She moved up behind him, placing a gentle hand between his shoulder blades. He slumped at her touch, turning back to her looking like a kicked puppy. For a ghoul that could scare the shit out of anyone with a glare, he could just as easily break your heart with a look.

He slid his arms around her, gripping her chin and tilting her face up to him again just like he had the day she'd come back to Goodneighbor. This time he kissed her, soft and slow, and she wished she could let herself be lost in his taste, in his smell, in the feel of him as he pressed into her.

She pulled away, squeezing his hands then letting them slide out of hers as she backed toward the door. "Thank you for everything, John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodnight, Goodbye: MacCready only *just* missed her. Hancock knew more than he was telling.


	6. Chapter 6

Nothing like nuclear fallout to screw up the weather patterns, Nora thought as she crossed the deltas into Natick. Whereas Cambridge and areas north had warm --and sometimes unbearably hot-- weather, the closer she got to the Glowing Sea, it was nothing but rain and cold.

She hadn't planned for that. She hadn't planned for this detour through knee-high water and mud either. She had crossed the bridge at the old marina, following the road southwest, when she came upon the first bloody totems and meat bags strung up in the trees.

Supermutants. Lots of them.

They'd taken up residence in what looked like a scrap yard. She was more glad than ever for Hancock's insistence that she ditch the brightly colored vault suit. For all that supermutants were as dumb as a box of rocks, they had incredibly keen senses. Their hounds even more so. They would have spotted her long before she would have seen them.

She kept low and to the trees and bushes as much as she could as she skirted a wide birth around the scrap yard, keeping her sniper rifle at the ready. It wouldn't do much good against the massive green brutes, but the scope helped her keep close tabs on them.

When the tree line thinned out to nothing, she was forced into the river's shallows and reeds. Progress was slowed further as she crept along almost on her knees past a wandering perimeter patrol. At least the smell of the stagnant water hid her scent.

The cold had sunk well into her bones by the time she regained the road. Everything ached. She regretted not having bothered to eat since... She couldn't remember when. No food, no calories. No calories, no fuel to keep her core temperature up. She was probably hypothermic.

As she thought it, a yawn overtook her, the skin of her face felt like it was burning as it stretched. 

She needed to find shelter.

A hard slap connected with her cheek and she snapped her eyes open to see a sooty, tattooed face leaning over her. "Fuck, you're still alive," the woman snapped with a frown.

Nora immediately scrambled away. Half shaved head, scars splitting her face from lips to ears, rebar wielded to piecemeal armor... Raider. But even as Nora frantically scanned about for a weapon, the woman just sat back on her heels and stared at her.

"Calm your tits, lady, I ain't gonna hurt you," she spat. "Shoulda done, but I ain't in the mood. Feelin' the art right now."

Nora stayed frozen in place as the raider woman got to her feet and wandered over to a broken and heavily graffitied statue. She picked up a paint brush and began smearing color unto the leg.

"What happened? H-how did I get here?" Nora croaked, wincing as the pain in her cheek made itself known.

The raider didn't bother to look at her as she dipped her brush into a can at her feet. "Came tumblin' ass over teakettle over that hill." She indicated with her head. "Scared the shit outta me. Oughta put a bullet in your skull for makin' me mess up. But turned out lookin' fuckin' awesome, so I'm gonna let you walk."

Nora stared, dumbfounded. Had she blacked out? It was the only explanation. She didn't even remember leaving the road.

"Thank you... and I'm sorry."

The woman shrugged. "Seriously, don't mention it. Just fuck off and let me get back to my art."

Nora didn't need telling twice. She found her pack --it looked rifled through, but she wasn't going to complain-- and her gun, and hurried as fast as she could to the other side of the statue's plinth. 

Before she cleared the cobbles, the raider called after her. "If you head west, there's a homestead over the next hill. Good guy. Don't fuck with his kids or I'll hunt you down and kill you."

Nora didn't think she could be any more surprised. "Uh... thanks, again."

"Stop sayin' that or I'll do it now!"

Nora ran.


	7. Chapter 7

"Dad Dad Dad Dad!"

Bill Somerville jerked around as his daughter came pelting into the common room of the house at full speed. "Marie! What the hell, girl?!"

"There's a woman outside!" Marie said in a rush. "Junior's having to hold her up! I think she's hurt!"

Bill grunted in alarm, dropped the ear of corn he'd been shucking, and hurried out into the yard. His son Junior was helping a very pale woman sit down on the half-buried oil drum next to their fire pit as he approached. She immediately put her hands out toward the heat the moment he let her go. She was white as a corpse, her lips purple in the orange glow of the fire.

"Junior, go get the whiskey."

The woman looked up at him as the boy went into the house. "That's not necessary," she said, her voice hoarse like she hadn't used it in awhile.

Bill shrugged. "You look like death walkin'." The boy was back, handing over a dirty Nuka Cola bottle filled with a clear liquid and stoppered with a chunk of corn cob. Bill uncorked it and held it out. "Corn liquor. Have a drink. It'll put a fire in your soul or put you in your grave. Something tells me you'd be fine with either."

She held his gaze for a moment, then nodded in agreement. She took the bottle and downed a large swallow. She half doubled over in a fit of coughing, eyes watering, but managing not to spit it back out as she passed it back to him. "You must have the strength of a brahmin to keep _that_ down," she gasped, hitting her fist against her chest.

"Hell no, I don't drink this crap." He shoved the makeshift cork back into place. "I just make it. Them Gunners up at that Vault like it well enough to leave us be in exchange." He eyed her up and down. "Got those old military duds on you, but no numbers on your face. You one of them?"

She shook her head, taking another minute to recover. "Minutemen General."

"Huh. Well I'll be damned. My father was a Minuteman back in the day. Thought that was the last of them after that massacre over in Quincy. How'd you get to be named General?"

"Preston Garvey."

Bill huffed a laugh. "Yeah, figures it'd be Garvey. Good man, but stuck on his ideals." He took a seat on a log near the fire opposite of her. "So, General, what brings you Somerville Place?"

She had turned her attention back to the fire and trying to warm her hands again. "Passing through. I'm trying to find the Glowing Sea, but I've gotten turned around and lost." She suddenly looked sheepish. "And I'm out of supplies."

"There are easier ways to kill yourself, you know. And we don't have stock enough to spare for a suicide march."

She frowned. "I'm not on a 'suicide march,' and I'm not asking for charity." She sounded as if this was a frequent argument for her. "I don't have caps, but I'm a fair carpenter and damn good mechanic." Her eyes went to the collapsed gables of the house. "And I can pledge Minutemen support to your homestead."

"You'll forgive me that I don't hold much faith in the Minutemen these days."

"It's offered, regardless," she said with a shrug of her own. "Look, all I'm asking is for a place to sleep for a little while. I'll work for food, and I'll manage on my own for everything else. Can we make a deal with that offer?"

Bill thought it over. Preston Garvey, he knew, was a man of high standards when it came to the Minutemen. Even if Bill himself didn't trust the militia, he could trust Garvey and his choice of leader.

"All right, its a deal."

In three weeks time, Somerville Place had a new roof, a pair of defense turrets, actual beds, and --oddly enough-- a new mutfruit tree growing. ("Personal tradition," she'd called it.) The General hadn't been exaggerating her skills in this at least. Bill couldn't help but to worry, though, as he watched her hike up and over the western ridge and into the sickly green glow beyond.

Suicide march, he called it.

He hoped he was wrong.

~

"Dad Dad Dad Dad!"

Bill looked up from switching out empty Nuka bottles for booze-filled ones in an old crate as both his son and daughter came sprinting through the rows of corn. They were out of breath as they skid to a stop in front of him, but Junior jabbed a finger back behind them.

Two men in ratty robes with patchy hair were supporting a third person between them as they came over the ridge. They paused when they saw him. A few seconds past as they seemed to be conferring. Then they unhooked their burden from around their shoulders --Bill's eyes widened as he recognized the dirty orange of the General's hazmat suit-- and rolled the body down the side of the hill. When she had come to a stop, they nodded once at him, turned, and disappeared back the way they came.

"Marie, get the first aid kit," he said with more calmness that he felt. "Junior, come with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The single parent family of settlers at Somerville Place kinda took on a life of their own here. They didn't have names other than "settler"; so I guess technically Bill and the kids are my OCs. Huh.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter merges with chapter 3 of Goodnight, Goodbye.

She felt a warm hand brush over her forehead, the scrape of callouses against her skin comforting and familiar, and she turned her head to chase the touch. The contact broke and she opened her eyes, blinking as bright white flared in her vision. It hurt, but only for a moment as it faded to the golden glow of dawn.

"Hi Honey," she heard Nate say softly, and she smiled up as his features came into focus. "I was afraid you were going to sleep all day. It's too nice of a morning to stay in bed."

She made a show of burrowing further into the blankets. "Mm, but it's so comfortable here."

He chuckled, reaching down to snatch the covers away. She squealed indignantly, sitting upright to grab him by the front of his shirt and pull him down into the bed on top of her. She shivered as he wrapped his arms around her. Even after being discharged all those months ago, he hadn't lost any of his rock hard muscle. God, it just felt so good to have him hold her.

"Just five more minutes," she begged, framing his face between her hands, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and pulling back to gaze into his eyes.

They were wrong.

Nate had dark hazel eyes, not bright blue.

She blinked.

MacCready smiled, bending down again to recapture her lips, the slim fingers of one hand sliding up into her hair. The feel of his nails scratching gently at her scalp sent delicious thrills down her spine. She let out a quiet moan as he nipped softly at her lower lip, his other hand moving to caress her neck.

Pain like splitting skin stung her lip and the gentle pressure against her throat suddenly became a vice grip, squeezing.

"B-Bobby?!" she tried to gasp, but she couldn't get enough air.

She snapped her eyes open.

Kellogg was staring at her through the rime-covered window of the cryopod. It was so cold it burned her skin and lungs. Each breath was like a stab through the chest.

She clutched at her chest with both hands, gripping the melon-sized radscorpion barb and pushing it out from between her ribs with the last of her dwindling strength. Her legs no longer able to support her, she fell backwards and curled in on herself as venom and blood gushed out of the fist-sized wound.

She was dying.

She clutched the pair of golden rings in her hand and held it to her to heart.

She bent to press a kiss to Shaun's velvety head, smiling as he gurgled happily up at her. She gave him a watery smile as she slipped her finger into his little fist and wiggled it. "My sweet little guy..." she whispered, closing her eyes and breathing in his scent.

The pain faded.

The burning cold melted away.

Nora opened her eyes.

A drop of water collected and ran across the beam, following a path to a bent nail sticking out just slightly higher than its fellows, before dripping off the head and into a tin can sitting on the stool next to the head of her bed.

She continued to watch more drops make the same journey until she couldn't ignore the itching at her inner elbow anymore. She sat up and inspected the cause. An IV needle. A tube. A bag of Radaway.

She was a better mechanic than a carpenter. She would need to hunt down that leak in the roof and patch it up. Nothing she could do about bent nails. It didn't matter.

She gingerly slipped into her boots and climbed to her feet. Finding her shirt laying across the foot of the bed, she pulled it on over her tank top, rolling the sleeves up and over the Radaway so as not to squeeze it too hard and make the medicine flow out too fast. She frowned when she tried to strap her belt on and found that she had no more notches to cinch it tight with. She tied it like a rope around her waist instead.

She found Bill sitting at the table amongst parts of his ham radio when she finally made it into the common room. He looked a little surprised to see her.

"Glad to see you alive, General. We were going to dig your grave next to your mutfruit tree."

She couldn't quite manage a smile. "I would've been honored, Mr. Somerville, truly." She sat down in the chair adjacent. "How did I get back here? How long was I out?"

"A week, give or take. And two... I don't know, monks maybe?... Whatever the Children of Atom call themselves, anyway... They brought you here. Or rather, dumped you over the ridge." His lip curled in disgust.

Nora shook her head. "They're highly radioactive. They were trying not to contaminate your land and crops." As his eyebrows shot up, she said, "Not every Child of Atom is a fanatical zealot. The ones I met in the Crater just want to live and worship in peace."

"Huh."

First a dead woman walking, then that same woman telling him not all crazies were evil... She didn't think he could take much more of his world shifting. So she focused back on the practical and immediate.

"Problems with the radio?" she asked, leaning up to take a look.

He blinked at her, then down at the electronic mess he was making. "Uh, yeah. Think maybe a wire got fried or something the last time we used it. Can't get any power to it."

"May I help?"

He beamed and stood up to offer his chair. "I was hoping you'd ask."

She sat down and got to work.

Hours or maybe minutes dragged by as she focused on the repair job. Bill and the kids went about their chores both in and outside the house. At some point, there was small commotion outside --"Oh, that's just Velma's caravan finally coming through."-- but she ignored it and Bill as he went out to greet the supply delivery.

Ring terminal. Screw. Tighten.

A scrape of a boot against the floor boards, then--

"Hey."

Her heart stopped.

"I, uh... I've been looking for you."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter merges with chapter 5 of Goodnight, Goodbye.
> 
> Special guest beta: Vlalekat. Thank you.

MacCready had changed. He was quieter now, more subdued. Nora wondered what had happened in the weeks (months?) they'd been apart as she followed him and Velma's caravan through Goodneighbor's gates. She didn't have time to dwell on it much as they were welcomed rather loudly by Daisy, who had actual official business, and Hancock, who seemed awfully smug about something she couldn't begin to fathom.

She helped Daisy and Velma's second man unload and reload the pack brahmin, all the while keeping an eye on MacCready as he spoke quietly with the mayor off to the side. For a moment, the merc clenched his fist and she was afraid he was going to deck the ghoul. But then they shook hands, Hancock nodding.

That business concluded, MacCready turned to talk to Velma and Hancock _sauntered_ over to Nora. "Ya find what you were lookin' for, sister?"

She shook her head. "More breadcrumbs." She nodded towards the mercenary and taskmaster. "That your doing?"

The ghoul looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. "What, Mac? Nah." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Well, maybe a little. He was drinkin' himself to death down in the 'Rail. So when Garvey called up sayin' you were in trouble, I figured two birds with one grenade."

His tone suddenly turned serious. "You gonna be okay?" he asked softly, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers.

She closed her eyes and pressed into the comforting gesture. "I really don't know. There's more blood to spill, more death to face."

She opened her eyes when his fingers slid under her chin to cup it gently. His gaze was now fixed on her lips. "Hancock--" He looked up at her, and she could see a spark of hunger in his eyes. "--about before--"

He slid his thumb over her lips, silencing her. "It's okay, sister. We're good." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'll always be here for ya." He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze before turning her toward MacCready waiting by the door of Daisy's storefront. "Now go see 'bout our idiot friend, will ya."

Reaching up to give his hand a squeeze of her own in thanks, Nora could swear his grip tightened ever so slightly for a split second before she pulled away to walk over to the merc. MacCready had busied himself with pretending to glance over the merchandise on display during the interaction, but gave himself away when he immediately turned to her the moment she made a move in his direction.

"Boss?"

Half a dozen questions lay buried in that one word.

Later. The street with all its eyes and ears -- especially those belonging to that bald man with the sunglasses so keenly focused on them -- was not the place for this.

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "I'm tired."

Through the gaps in her fingers, she saw him reach for her, stop, then drop his hand back to his side.

"Okay. Come on."

He had definitely changed. Before, MacCready would have never even hinted at giving her a command.

He pushed himself off the door frame and she followed behind him as he lead them toward the Rexford. Other than Sunglasses now hanging out in Kill or Be Killed, Goodneighbor's residents paid them no attention along the way to the hotel.

Inside, Nora said nothing as MacCready retrieved a key -- just one -- from Clair. Again, she followed when he motioned with his head toward the stairs.

Last room on the right.

Her room.

His room.

Their room.

Greatest live soap opera in all of the Commonwealth in this shabby little room, she thought to herself, dropping her gear on the table and moving to the window. Behind her, she could hear MacCready lock the door. Given Hancock's habits, she inwardly approved of his forethought.

There was a brief pause, and she could barely hear the click of his throat as he swallowed hard. "I... I think we need to talk."

She closed her eyes and resisted the urge let her shoulders droop. "We do," she agreed, but she was suddenly so weary her voice was little better than a whisper.

Another pause, and she could feel the air shift as he moved closer.

"I want to make this better--"

His voice was so torn, it felt like a knife in her gut.

"-- but I don't know where to start. I want things to go back to the way they were between us. If they even can."

They can't, she wanted to say. He couldn't continue on, ignorant of her problems. And she couldn't -- wouldn't -- look beyond the fact that he was still a mercenary. He would always want caps.

Steeling herself, forcing a mask of cool detachment in place, she turned to him. "I help people," she began, trying to keep her tone neutral. "It gives me purpose and direction in this hell I've woken up to."

She decided against commenting on the look of confusion that flashed over his face. He really knew nothing about her, did he.

"Caps mean nothing to me," she continued. "They won't get me what I need. But helping people, making friends, that _will_."

Her mind went back to their first meeting in the back room of the Third Rail. " _Look lady. If you're preaching about the Atom, or looking for a friend, you've got the wrong guy. If you need a hired gun... then maybe we can talk._ "

"I don't need a mercenary, MacCready."

He visibly sagged, looking away. The sudden shine in his eyes hurt her heart.

She took a steadying breath.

"I need a friend."

And she let the mask go.

His gaze immediately snapped back to hers. For a dreadful moment, he stared at her, searching.

_Stay or go, Bobby. Your choice._

He held his arms out. "You got me."

There was more to talk about, more to explain, more put to rights, but right now she was willing to let it wait just a little longer.

She needed this.

She needed him.

She stepped into his embrace, sighing as his arms wrapped around her, his face pressing into the crook of her neck as they both trembled.

"You'll always have me," he whispered.

  
  


\--------------------------////-----------------------------

  
  


Hancock hummed softly to himself as he entered the Rexford, tipping his hat to Clair at the front desk as he reached over the side bar's counter and grabbed a bottle of bourbon.

"Run the tab over to the State House," he called to her as he started up the stairs. "Fahrenheit's on orders to pay. Charge double."

As he made his way to the top floor, pulling out his Jet inhaler, he was brought up short by a faint mewling sound. His hit momentarily forgotten, he cocked his ear toward the noise, softening his steps as he followed it to its source.

Nora's room.

She was making the sounds. Was she crying?

He was about to knock when another voice that was definitely _not_ crying joined in.

He leaned back from the door, grinning. He sat the bottle against the frame, mentally picturing the love birds' faces when they found it later. Both would blush so prettily.

"Don't fuck it up this time, Mac," he whispered, pressing his hand to his heart. His smile faltered slightly as he ran a thumb over the Mentats tin in his breast pocket. "I won't let you off so easily next time."

Turning to head back down the stairs, he finally took his hit, humming again as he exhaled. " _I don't want to set the world on fire..._ "

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


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